Mark Reviews Movies: THE NEST (2020)

Follow on Facebook | Follow on Twitter | Become a Patron

Review by Mark Dujsik | September 17, 2020

It doesn't take a long wait for the other shoe to drop in The Nest. At first, this is the story of a seemingly happy family, but from the film's start, writer/director Sean Durkin creates an unsettling aura around the edges of their existence. The husband/father makes a phone call in the first scene, and after the casual greetings, Durkin's camera suddenly appears outside the house, as it pulls back on a conversation that we cannot hear happening behind the home's bay window. The minimalist music accompanying these shots only affirms the feeling: Something here isn't right.

There's a mystery here, but it isn't as overtly sinister as the filmmaking might imply. It will be, though, on an intimate, interpersonal level for this family.

Hubby is bored. Dad doesn't feel fulfilled anymore. Rory O'Hara (Jude Law) just stares off into the distance from the window in his home office or loses himself in the sight of his fingers pressed against his lips.

He has a plan to correct this malaise, felt only by himself, it seems. Everyone else in the family had better get onboard with the scheme. Rory doesn't leave them much choice in the matter, and after the family packs up their things to move to a fixer-up mansion outside of London, the husband and father tries his damnedest to make them as physically comfortable in a situation in which there's only discomfort and simmering resentment.

That's the situation in which Rory has forced his wife Allison (Carrie Coon) and their two kids—elder daughter Samantha (Oona Roche), who likely is Rory's stepdaughter, and younger son Benjamin (Charlie Shotwell). It seems ideal—a manor in the English countryside, with more space than this family of four could possibly occupy on their own. Again, everything seems just a bit off, from the state of the place to Mátyás Erdély's cinematography, which seems to struggle to find any light amidst the deep, enveloping shadows of the house. Then, there's the price, which must be considerable, considering Rory's silence on the topic.

The family's adjustment doesn't go well from the start, either. Allison has a passion for horseback riding and had a career teaching it back home, but now, she only has her horse, transported from home and clearly agitated from the trip or its new surroundings, and her husband's promise that he'll have some stables built (as well as an expensive fur coat). He'll even build a school for his wife, so that she can live the dream of being her own boss.

Benjamin is enlisted in the best private school money can buy, but he's scared of the house, anxious about returning to school every morning, and even wets the bed in his sleep. Samantha admits she finds the mansion creepy, too, and soon enough, she's talking back to her mother with a bit more bite than her usual sarcasm, sneaking cigarettes, and hanging out with fellow teenagers whose minds are only on partying.

Yes, the other shoe drops almost as soon as the family arrives at this mansion, but Durkin's story isn't about the shock of how badly Rory mucks up, how bitter and resentful Allison becomes, and how the son and daughter transform into, respectively, terrified and apathetic kids. Durkin simply observes as the shoe keeps falling, seemingly without end, simply because Rory has placed his expectations, his sense of entitlement, and his promises at such a great height.

He believes he has earned such things. The story is set at some point during the 1980s, and Rory senses a change in the business landscape coming. Regulations will be loosened, and companies, like the investment firm in London where he took the job that led to the family's family, will be able to take advantage for their own gain. Rory has the gift of gab—or B.S., depending on one's tolerance for his attitude—and, as his boss Arthur (Michael Culkin) says, "vision" for big deals.

Durkin's approach to this story takes its time in developing and examining each of these characters (although the parents, obviously, are the focus). It's also considerably generous.

We see the kids and all of their potential begin to falter. We watch Allison, played with such precision of manner and mood by Coon, trying to claim whatever control she might have over own life, from hiding a stash of cash from Rory to becoming more irritated with her horse's apparent disobedience (The horse ends up serving as a dual metaphor, both for her frustration with losing control and for her inability to see damage that's right in front of her—but doesn't affect her directly). If there's an imbalance in sympathy here, Durkin certainly leans toward the wife, whose increased coldness and harshness toward her husband's empty promises and unattainable goals are certainly earned.

That doesn't mean Rory comes across as the villain, though. There's some depth to him, mostly—and ironically—in how petty and short-sighted his motives and ambitions are. Law is charismatic enough to make us believe that some people would fall for his many, empty words. There's pain and resentment, though, beneath his reach for some mysterious goal, unknown even to him, that will bring him satisfaction and a feeling—finally, after a miserable childhood and a life of being looked down upon—of self-worth.

Everybody here can sense the problems (Samantha constantly tells her mother she should admit she's angry) and feel the sting of other people's real or perceived failures. In The Nest, Durkin wants us to see a bit deeper, not only within these characters, but also in the society that has provided these characters, especially in Rory's mind, certain expectations of success and happiness. The dream may be a lie, but the pain resulting from the chase of it is undeniable.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products